


Always at Night - Chapter 29.5

by TriDom



Series: Nocturnal Problems [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, Protection Dogs, companion fic, mentions of animal abuse, working dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: Chris, Peter, and Stiles go to get Stiles's emotional support dog.





	Always at Night - Chapter 29.5

Witching Hour Kennels had been established before Chris was thought of, maybe even before his father was. There was a wrought iron sign on the narrow paved road off the main highway, but that was the only indication that anything was up the long graveled driveway. Chris wouldn’t call Shawn paranoid, but then he didn’t like throwing stones in a glass house. 

“This only looks kind of like a horror movie,” Stiles said from the backseat. 

Chris glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him staring out of the windows at the dense line of pine trees. 

“He does seems to have a theme,” Peter said. “I’m surprised a coven hasn’t burned this down for the name.” 

“His great grandmother started it. She was a Romanian witch,” Chris said. 

“She sold out against her own kind? How self-serving.” 

“If you don’t police your own kind you can’t be angry when another group does it for you.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. 

The gravel crackled under the tires as he drove the nearly quarter mile up the narrowed path before it widened to a few acres of cleared land circled by the same density of forest as the way they’d come. The main house was only a few hundred yards from the large building of the kennels. The dark gray chimney left a thin line of smoke across the dull gray sky. 

A few hundred yards away, there was a fenced enclosure of a few acres where a handful of dogs of varying breeds came to the fence. Chris knew there were a few other pens behind the main building, but he couldn’t see them as he got out of the 4Runner. The sound of Peter and Stiles closing their doors rang flatly as they got out. 

Chris started walking toward the house when he heard a screen door closing and Shawn came around the the nearly black water-stained porch.  

“Chris, it’s good to see you,” he said, coming down the steps. 

“Same,” Chris said, taking his hand and pulling him into a rough hug. 

Shawn clapped him hard on his back before stepping away. His eyes were so green they looked unnatural against his skin that was so white it was nearly transparent. He looked at Stiles, one pass from head to toe.  

“Shawn, this is Peter and Stiles.” 

“Peter Hale,” Shawn said, smiling a shit-eating grin as he shook Peter’s hand and glanced at Chris. “Aren’t you lucky I’m not a gossip? I’d hate to confirm all those rumors that have floated around for so long.” 

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Peter said. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Shawn said before he looked at Stiles and shook his hand. “I’m guessing the dog is for you.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. 

“What school are you going to?” 

“Stanford.” 

“Wow.” 

“Yeah, I guess.”  

“He has nearly a full ride on an academic scholarship,” Chris said, squeezing Stiles’s shoulder. 

“That’s great,” Shawn said. 

“Yeah if I can actually go it’ll be great,” Stiles said. “This supernatural shit is killing me.” 

“I think Beaux will help,” Shawn said. “Let’s go see him. Peter, stay by Chris. I’ve got some young ones that haven’t learned to behave yet.” 

“I think I’ll wait here,” Peter said. 

“Coward,” Chris said. 

“I like having all the flesh on my ass, thank you very much.” 

Chris slapped his jean clad ass before following after Shawn and Stiles. 

“Are you supernatural at all?” Shawn asked. 

“No.” 

“He was possessed by a nogitsune last year,” Chris said when Stiles didn’t continue. “He was touched by a wendigo recently and it’s brought some things up. I don’t know if they would react to that or not.” 

“I don’t either,” Shawn said as they reached the fence to the main enclosure. 

Seven or eight dogs were along the fence watching them. A solid black dog was staring at them with light brown eyes. It started to growl then show white teeth. Shawn smacked the fence in front of it with the flat of his hand. 

“Stop.” 

The dog stopped growling, but didn’t flinch. Chris resisted the urge to put his arm around Stiles. 

“You two hold tight, I’ll get Beaux and bring him out.” 

Shawn opened the gate and walked in, looking over the dogs before sticking his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistling. It only took a handful of seconds before two more dogs came from around the back of the main building. One was a shepherd of some kind and the second was a lanky black Beauceron. 

“Is that him?” Stiles asked. 

“I think so,” Chris said. 

“He doesn’t look mean at all,” Stiles said. He couldn’t have sounded happier about it. 

“He’s still a pup.” 

“And he has ears!” 

“You’re the first person I’ve heard sound excited about that,” Shawn said over his shoulder. 

Then he grabbed Beaux by his collar and led him through the group of dogs. The others stayed back with one word, although a few growled, staring at Stiles. When Shawn closed the door, he still held Beaux’s collar, watching him. Beaux was staring at Stiles, but he wasn’t growling.

“I’m going to let him go. Don’t try to pet him, just let him do his thing,” Shawn said. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. 

Shawn released the dog’s collar and he came forward immediately, sniffing the air with his head low and his ears perked. He circled Stiles, smelling his feet, then his hands as he passed. By the time he reached Stiles’s second hand, his tail barely waved. It was just enough for the tension Chris’s didn’t realize he was holding to relax. In the corner of his eye, he saw Shawn do the same thing. 

“Say his name and you can pet him,” Shawn said. 

“Beaux,” Stiles said, smiling slightly as he slowly moved his hand and let the dog sniff it again. 

The tail wag was real then as Stiles petted the side of the dog’s face. Then Stiles’s smile turned to a real one as the dog started sniffing up his arm more earnestly. The fact that he was still young showed. His nose was twitching as he tried to take in every smell at once. Chris wouldn’t have taken him. His dogs had always been more reserved with strangers, but with Stiles going to college, having the dog around young stupid people, it could be a good fit. 

“He’s not a Heretic, but I didn’t think that would match the situation you described,” Shawn said, like he could read his mind.

“It wouldn’t have.” 

Then Shawn looked across the yard toward Peter, who was leaning against the Toyota with his phone out. He motioned for him to come over and Peter pocketed his phone, coming toward them like it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

The dog sniffing Stiles stilled when Peter was still half the yard away. Then he looked at Peter and started to growl. Any playfulness melted away as he sat at Stiles’s feet, between he and Peter. Peter frowned and looked at Chris. 

“If I get bitten I’m going to be beyond pissed.” 

“Be a sport,” Chris said. 

Peter flipped him off before taking a step closer. Beaux rose from a sit to his haunches like a spring being compressed, barking twice. 

“Stiles, tell him down,” Shawn said. 

“Down,” Stiles said, looking at Shawn when he said it. 

Beaux barked again, showing his teeth with saliva starting to drip from his mouth. 

“You have to say it firmer than that. He’s your dog. He has to listen to you,” Shawn said. “Grab his collar if you have to.” 

“Down,” Stiles said again, his voice rising, but it still sounded like a question. 

Beaux was barking louder than Stiles was speaking, taking one step closer to Peter with his ears flattened to his head. Peter looked at Chris like there wasn’t a sum of money large enough to come any closer. 

Chris stepped around Stiles and grabbed Beaux’s collar. “Down.” 

The fixation broke like a spell. The dog looked at Chris, wagged its tail once then kept staring at Peter without the growling or barking. Stiles’s shoulders dropped. 

“You’ll get it,” Chris said. 

“You will it just takes practice,” Shawn said. “Peter, back up a few steps.” 

“I’m not enjoying being your decoy,” he said. 

“Tough,” Chris said. 

Peter rolled his eyes before taking a few steps back. 

“Beaux, alert,” Shawn said. 

The dog was already watching Peter, but then it started to growl, his upper lip trembling into a snarl. When Peter came a step closer, he rose back on his haunches, the growl deepening. 

“Do what I did, Stiles,” Chris said. “You’re not getting on to him, you’re just telling him what you need him to do.” 

“Your dad is a sheriff,” Peter said, then he took another step forward. “You know how to sound commanding.” 

Beaux started to bark, salvia speckling his muzzle. Stiles looked at Chris. 

“You’ve got it.” 

Stiles looked back down at Beaux and grabbed his collar like Chris had, not pulling, but holding it. 

“Down.” When the dog didn’t listen, Stiles gave a small tug. “Beaux, down.” 

The dog dropped to the grass, looking up at Stiles’s with his tail sweeping over the ground once. 

“Good job,” Shawn said. 

Chris squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. 

“Peter, you can come over,” Shawn said. 

Peter crossed the distance between them and the dogs a few yards behind them growled. One  _ No  _ from Shawn and they were silent, except for one or two. 

“I’ve still got some young ones,” Shawn said looking at Chris. 

“I don’t blame them. I’d growl at Peter too,” Chris said. 

“Thank you, love,” Peter said before he held out his hand for the dog to smell. 

The dog sniffed then sat back and stared at Peter before looking back at Shawn. Shawn pointed at Stiles and the dog stared at him. 

“What do I do?” Stiles asked. 

“Tell him  _ go _ . That’s his release word. He’s off duty at that point.” 

“Go,” Stiles said with the same voice as before. 

The dog started to sniff Peter’s hand in earnest then. He didn’t wag his tail, but the severe alertness in his face relax until he just looked like a normal dog meeting a stranger. Peter scratched behind his ear and the dog started to circle him, sniffing, like it had done Stiles. 

“Great,” Shawn said, watching Beaux and Peter. “Now call him back. Just  _ heel _ .” 

“Heel,” Stiles said. 

The dog trotted back over to him and sat, staring up at him. 

“Even when he’s on release if he catches something he doesn’t think should be there, he’ll still come back to you, and be on alert.” 

“That’s awesome,” Stiles said. 

“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take Stiles to the course behind the kennels. You two can wander around, but you know how it goes, it’s best if he’s working one on one with a new dog,” Shawn said. 

“Is that okay with you?” Chris asked Stiles. 

“Yeah if that’s what you guys normally do.” 

“He needs to know he’s your dog. Not mine or Peter’s,” Chris said. 

“That makes sense,” Stiles said, petting one of Beaux’s floppy ears. 

“You two can look through the kennel if you want,” Shawn said. “There’s a litter of pups in one of the stalls.” 

“Okay,” Chris said. He gave Stiles another squeeze before Stiles followed Shawn into the large barn that housed the indoor kennels. 

“A pack of assholes,” Peter said, staring at the hunting dogs. 

One of the larger ones, it looked like a cross of labrador and catahoula started to snarl. 

“Leave them alone,” Chris said, grabbing Peter by the back of the shirt and tugging him toward the barn. 

Peter followed, bumping against his shoulder. “Is the man a gossip?” 

“No,” Chris said. 

“Would you care if he were?” Peter asked. 

“No,” Chris said. “I’ve made my name. If anyone wants to detract from that, because of what I do in my own time then that’s their right.” 

“Such a romantic,” Peter said flatly.

Chris shrugged as they walked into the shadow of the barn. Stalls that had once been horse stalls lined the front. Chris glanced into a few that were empty. One had bars above the door and around the enclosure. As soon as he peaked over, a dog slammed against the door, rattling the latch. Its front paws clawed at the door as it barked, sticking its long muzzle through the bars, spattering Chris with saliva. It was the largest black dog he’d ever seen, nearly the same size and thickness of a shetland pony. Its dark eyes weren’t even fixated on Peter behind him, they were staring at Chris. 

“Don’t open that gate,” Shawn said, popping his head back around the end of the barn that he and Stiles had just exited to the training field behind. “He’s a Grim I bought from a cousin. Work in progress.” 

“How much progress?” Peter asked, stepping away from the dog with his eyes golden and lips swollen with the drop of his teeth. 

“Three days,” Shawn said before he was gone again. 

“He’s a very weird man.” 

“He is,” Chris said, staring at the Grim with the gray fur combining with the black. It make him look like he was covered in smoke. His hot breath in Chris’s face smelled like brimstone. 

He looked away from the dog’s pale pupil-less eyes, and started down the rows of stalls. A few dogs were in the remaining ones, one had its leg wrapped, another was in the process of vomiting. There was a faint shimmer to the air around that dog’s stall. Chris reached out and touched the faint green waver to the air and felt resistance, like pushing against plastic wrap. There was something in the dog’s bowl that was glowing with normal kibble. 

When the dog finished its dry heaving, it laid down in the stall bedding with a large sigh. A small stream of smoke came from its nostrils. Chris couldn’t help wondering what Shawn was healing and keeping contained that caused so much effort. 

When the dog closed its eyes, Chris followed Peter down the aisle where he was standing in front of another stall. High pitched small barks were coming from inside. 

He looked over the stall door at the young merle-spotted pups that were clawing at the gate. Chris opened it and slipped inside with Peter right behind him. The puppies couldn’t be any more than five or six weeks, their legs were still pudgy and clumsy as they clawed at his jeans, trying to climb his legs. 

Chris crouched and splayed his hands, letting the puppies brush themselves against him. Peter was doing the same thing beside him, their knees barely touching. 

“They start adorable? Who would have thought,” Peter said, picking up one of the puppies and holding it to his eye-level. His eyes were golden, but his teeth weren’t dropped. The puppy growled. Peter laughed. 

“She’ll be a good one,” Chris said, scratching the puppy behind its ear. 

Peter rubbed the puppy’s chest before setting it down and picking one up that had settled against his ankle. A few growled at Peter as they played with them for a little while, but soon Chris’s knees started to protest and he stood up to lean against the wall. Most of the puppies had gotten their fill of them, sleeping in a pile together in the stall bedding. A few were still climbing Peter like a jungle gym. He was sitting in the straw with dust and short fur covering his designer jeans and t-shirt. 

“I never figured you for a dog person.” 

“I’m part wolf,” Peter said, not looking away from the chubby female that had growled at him earlier. Now she was going between growling and barking at him and running closer to let him pet her. 

“That’s why I thought dogs were a no-go.” 

“No, most dogs don’t like me, there’s a different,” Peter said. “And I’ve never had time for a puppy, so I’ve never had one.” 

“Shawn would let you buy one of these. They won’t all be cut out for hunting,” Chris said. 

“What about you?” Peter asked, ignoring him. 

“What about me?” 

“Would you want a puppy?” 

“I don’t like puppies. They’re fun to play with, but I’ve always owned dogs, not puppies.” 

“This is when they’re sweet and pliable though,” Peter said. 

“For now I already have a puppy,” Chris said, smiling slightly. 

Peter snorting, still not looking up from the puppy. “You’ve always had a puppy.” 

Chris smiled when Peter looked up. His eyes were still the warm golden color that Chris had only ever liked on him. In anyone else’s face that color meant fight or flight, with Peter it was never that way. 

As Peter stood, the only puppy left awake was Peter’s little rebel. She grabbed his ankle as he went to the door, digging her small feet in and letting herself be dragged. Chris stepped around Peter and opened the gate, waiting for Peter as he stared down at the puppy before picking her up. She started to gnaw on his fingers as he held her against his chest. 

Chris walked through the rest of the barn  until they standing in front of the grouping of smaller kennels in the green grass behind it. A few yards behind the kennels, Stiles and Shawn were training in a small enclosure. Beaux seemed to be fixated on every word Stiles said, only stuttering a few times, but clearly trying to do what Stiles was asking. Some of the tightness in Chris’s chest relaxed. 

He made himself look away and look at the dogs in the pens. Two pairs were obviously breeding pairs, but the rest were in for a variety of other reasons. Some Shawn would’ve just gotten from other breeders and he was still making sure they didn’t have an illnesses and testing temperaments before letting them in with his pack, others were clearly injured, and a few lunged at the chainlink barriers, trying to chew through them. 

Peter was hardly paying attention, petting the pup that had gone to sleep against him. Chris stopped and looked in at each pen, seeing which ones were lame, which ones were aggressive, and what seemed to trigger them. 

He had gotten Heretic from a kennel behind the barn. Chris still remembered the way he had stared at him with intelligent and independent eyes. He didn’t know what had gone wrong in his breeding, but he was wary of strangers to the point of high aggression. Shawn had tried to steer him away from the dog multiple times, before just giving in. 

Heretic bit him once. He still had scars on the back of his leg from when he first got him. 

He had the dog for thirteen years and still had his ashes in a silver urn in his closet. 

He was nearly to the end of the line when he stopped in front of a Beauceron’s kennel. Shawn’s kennels made them seem like a popular breed, but they weren’t. Nearly all of them had been flown in from France. 

“Another one?” Peter asked. 

“Mhm,” Chris said, crouching in front of the kennel and holding his hand up to it. 

The dog was sitting in staring at him, but then stood and came closer, holding his left rear leg off the ground. He was missing an eye and had a chunk taken out of one of his cropped ears. 

“I thought you were the only one who used Beaucerons.” 

“I was,” Chris said, watching the dog as it sniffed his hand then sat back. It stared at Peter over his shoulder. “Yeah he’s suspicious. I wouldn’t stop watching him either,” Chris said in a low voice. 

The dog gave no indication that it heard him. It just continued to stare at Peter. 

“I don’t like the way he’s doing that,” Peter said. 

“You aren’t supposed to.” 

Then they heard chainlink rattle and Stiles and Shawn’s voices coming closer. Beaux was walking beside Stiles without a leash, staring up at him. Chris stood up and his knees popped loudly. Shawn smiled when he saw what kennel he was in front of. 

“Did you make friends with him?” 

“Not quite,” Chris said. 

“You can let him out if you want. He won’t bite Peter,” Shawn said. 

“Go stand by Stiles,” Chris said to Peter. 

Peter did as he asked and  Stiles squealed, petting the puppy that was sleeping against Peter’s chest. Shawn said something about Peter ruining his prospective dogs by rubbing werewolf stink on them. Chris ignored them as he undid the latch of the grown dog’s kennel. 

The dog stared at him before Chris snapped. 

“Come,” he said. 

The dog came out with its head down slightly, it glanced at Peter and its ears stood, but it didn’t move toward him. It didn’t even go into a defensive position. It was still favoring its rear leg. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“He was attacked by a pack of hunting dogs,” Shawn said. 

Chris exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight as he crouched again. “Who the fuck had a pack of dogs hunting together?” 

“Not a name that’d surprise you I can assure you.” 

“Did you sell him the dog?” Chris asked, looking up at Shawn. 

Shawn leveled him with a look like Chris shouldn’t be so stupid. “Thanks to you and your dog preference I’m not the only one who gets Beaucerons anymore.” 

Chris forced himself to unclench his jaw as he held out his hand to the dog. He had the classic brown and black coloring with a long snout. His remaining eye was a rich brown He was older with gray threading through his brown mask. The dog sniffed him again before coming slightly closer. 

“How much is he?” Chris asked. 

“Cover the vet bills he’s going to keep needing and you can have him,” Shawn said. “No more hunting though. He’s done.” 

“That’s fine,” Chris said. 

The dog sniffed his hand and Chris slowly reached beneath his jaw the scratch. The dog’s one good eye, stared up at him, cautious, but its tail barely moved on the ground. 

“Good boy,” Chris said. 

The dog continued to stare. 

“He and Beaux?” Chris asked. 

“They’ll be fine together,” Shawn said. 

“I’ll take him,” Chris said. “What’s his name?” 

“He wasn’t sent with one,” Shawn said. “I’ve just been calling him Boy and Dog.” 

“Well get him a name,” Chris said, but the dog wasn’t looking at him anymore, it was staring at Stiles. 

“Your boy did good with Beaux,” Shawn said. 

“He’s great,” Stiles said, petting Beaux’s head. Beaux was panting, his expression less serious, younger. 

“That’s great,” Peter said, going closer to Stiles, eyeing the dog, but Beaux just sniffed at him as Peter stood beside Stiles, hugging him. 

Beside Chris, the dog without a name growled so quietly he almost didn’t hear. 

“Shh,” Chris said. 

The dog stopped, but continued to stare, not at Peter, but at Stiles.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
